


a web of living light

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hds_beltane, Double Penetration, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: On Beltane, they come together as one.





	a web of living light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).



> Leontina, I had a lot of fun working with your prompts, and I really hope you enjoy this!

Ribbon curls around Harry’s skin, the material tight around his wrists. It wraps across his forearms, his hands pulled behind his back and bound to the Maypole. He can’t move—the ribbon keeping him where he stands. Secure. Steady.

A finger runs along the length of his spine, the touch accompanied by the low murmur of Severus’ voice. His words are soft; quiet enough that Harry can barely make out what he’s saying. He hears what could be a _well done_ , a _good boy_ , and it sends a shiver through him. Has him arching in the open space. Seeking relief for his already burning arousal.

Beltane celebrations have only just ceased, and his lovers have wasted no time in getting him where they want him: naked, vulnerable. At their mercy.

Just the thought has Harry squirming.

He hears footsteps behind him, the ground wet with dew as the day stretches to the early hours of the morning. It’s still dark out—the field illuminated by what remains of the Beltane fire, by the glow of luminescent creatures which still lurk; orange embers blending seamlessly with the flickering lights of faeries.

It’s beautiful, the field. Harry hadn’t known what to expect, had only heard of Beltane in passing. Had only read of it in the old, thick tomes Severus kept in his study. But this: the way magic seems to exude from the Earth and seep into everything around them. The way it makes the air buzz with a sense of celebration; with rebirth, renewal... It’s like nothing else Harry has ever experienced.

**

_“Beltane,” Draco says. It’s early April; barely Spring. The three of them are sat at the dinner table, Harry and Severus on one side with Draco on the other. “Are we celebrating?”_

_The question is directed at Severus, not Harry. As if there’s some other meaning to it. Something only Severus will understand._

_The way Severus’ gaze flicks to Harry before settling on Draco confirms that there is._

**

Draco moves to stand in front of him, the fabric of his shirt brushing against Harry’s skin. He’s smirking, his eyes a glittering grey as his gaze rakes over Harry’s body: bare save the paint that colours his skin in splashes and stripes, the collar that sits around his neck—a gift. Merely months old. A token of their triad.

“You’ve never looked prettier, Potter,” Draco says, and it could almost be a joke; a hint of mockery colouring his tone. But his eyes are soft. Loving.

“Perhaps you might do something useful,” Severus says from behind Harry’s shoulder, “and undress.”

Draco grins, impish. His hands move to his shirt though, long fingers plucking each button open on Severus’ command. “How do you want him?” he asks, and—

There’s a groan: quiet and guttural. Harry’s head falls forward as Severus steps closer still, a hand settling on his lower back. He’s always enjoyed this part much more than he ought to; has always found it inexplicably arousing to have the two of them talk about him as if he weren’t there, as if they weren’t standing on either side of him.

“Desperate,” Severus murmurs, and Harry sees Draco grin, feels Severus settle down onto his knees.

It’s the only warning he gets.

**

_August, Ministry event. He’s there as a formality, as is almost everyone else. The topic something of taxes, or elections, or something Harry has no idea about but Hermione seems to find riveting. He sits next to Ron and nods when Hermione goes on about the trading standards of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but he’s not really listening._

_He’s preoccupied. His eyes are fixed on the table two spots over. On where Draco Malfoy sits between Severus Snape and a woman Harry’s never seen before. On where Snape’s hand is curled around the younger man’s thigh, the act no doubt intentional._

_Harry doesn’t expect to go home with them._

_And yet._

**

Severus’ hands are on his arse, fingers rubbing over the dried paint that decorates the small of his back, the flesh of his thighs. Harry knows what’s coming, has to lean against Draco to steady himself as Severus cups his arse, spreads his cheeks. He leans forward, breath warm against Harry’s skin as he teases, taunts. Takes his time.

“You like that, don’t you?” Draco asks. His fingers are curled in Harry’s hair, his nails scratching lightly across the scalp, urging his head back. He leans in close, catches Harry’s mouth in a slow, wet kiss. His teeth biting lightly against Harry’s bottom lip. “Like when we take you like this.”

Harry nods, his back arching as Severus’ tongue presses against his hole. Laps at the sensitive skin. His legs are already starting to shake.

In front of him, Draco presses a string of kisses along his jaw, up his neck. Until his mouth is right beside Harry’s ear, his teeth nipping the lobe. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, breath hot as it trails over Harry’s skin. “His tongue—working you open. It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

The words are broken up by kisses, touches. By Draco’s hands roaming his body. Harry’s breath hitches, both from the pressure of Severus’ tongue and the heat behind Draco’s words.

“Yes,” he answers, the word a drawn out moan.

Draco hums, brushes his fingers over Harry’s abdomen, down across his hardened shaft. He doesn’t grip his cock like Harry wants him to, chooses instead to tease him. Watch him squirm.

“You have no idea how fun this is,” Draco continues, the pad of his thumb swiping across the slit of Harry’s cock. “Seeing you fall apart. You get so needy.”

Harry’s eyes shut, his forehead falling to Draco’s shoulder with a gasp as Severus adds a finger alongside his tongue. Draco curls an arm around his waist to steady him, shushing him softly as Severus sets a steady rhythm; one finger turning to two, to three.

**

_September, October, all through to February. They meet at least once a week; sometimes twice, three times. Harry tells himself it’s casual, only then there are dinners and discussions and a budding sense of trust. A trust which allows Harry to succumb to desires he’s long since buried. Which sees him vulnerable, unguarded, and relying on Severus and Draco to give him what his body craves._

_They deliver, every time, and as they settle into March, Harry realises he doesn’t want it to stop._

**

“Lie down,” Severus says, looking at Draco. “On your back, legs spread.”

Draco listens, stepping away from Harry to lie across the grass. Behind him, Severus presses the tip of his wand to Harry’s forearms, a murmured word releasing his body from its restraints. He wobbles lightly, unsteady without the ribbons to keep him in place, and Severus reaches up, uses a grip of Harry’s forearms to help him forward, ease him onto the ground. A knee falls to either side of Draco’s thighs, Draco’s arms reaching up to steady him, his hands rubbing across his back to ease the ache between his shoulder blades.

“Good,” Severus murmurs softly, watching them both intently. He’s still dressed, Harry notices. Stripped down to trousers and a plain dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, but still much more clothed than what he and Draco are.

It feels unfair, and yet the sight sends a rush of desire straight to Harry’s gut.

Severus settles beside them, vial of oil held in hand. He pours a fair amount into his palm, reaches between their bodies to curl a fist around Draco’s cock. Draco tries to buck up into it, only the weight of Harry holds him in place. Keeps him still.

Severus’ hand moves in slow strokes, coating Draco’s prick in a generous amount of oil until Draco is groaning his name, both in frustration and arousal.

“ _Please,_ ” Draco says, and Severus finally takes pity.  

He motions for Harry to lift himself up, holds Draco’s cock steady as Harry sinks down onto it, both of them breathing heavily. “Ride him,” Severus orders, and there’s no questioning it.

Harry rocks his hips is slow circles at first, swearing under his breath as Draco fills him. They settle into an easy rhythm, the one he knows Draco prefers.

“Good,” Severus says, watching them.

There’s rustling, and then Severus’ body is settling back behind him. Harry thinks nothing of it at first, too concentrated on riding Draco’s cock to really notice, only then he feels a slick finger at his rim, feels Severus trace where his and Draco’s bodies blur, feels him ease his finger inside.

Harry makes a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a choke, precome leaking from the tip of his cock as Severus stretches him wide. He grounds back against it, a desperate, shuddering moan slipping past his lips.  

“Greedy,” Draco jokes from beneath him, but it’s more breathless than his usual voice. More of a pant.

Severus adds a second finger, scissoring them carefully as he wraps an arm around Harry’s torso to steady him. “Slowly,” he tells Draco, who obediently stills the rock of his hips to something sluggish and unhurried.

Harry rocks against Severus’ hand as he prepares him, moaning at the added pressure, the additional burn. “Severus,” he says, low and breathy. “Please.”

Severus urges him forward, so he’s braced against Draco’s chest, and lines the head of his cock with Harry’s hole. He eases forward slowly, carefully, the pressure of his fingers replaced with his cock. Harry swears, groans, the added stretch making him clutch at Draco’s chest, his mouth open and his breath coming in heavy pants.

“Shh,” Draco says quietly, one hand curled in Harry’s hair; his fingers brushing the sweaty strands away from his forehead. “You’re taking it so well, love.”

Harry doesn’t respond—can’t. He bites back another swear, shuts his eyes as Severus presses all the way in, his palm rubbing Harry’s back soothingly while Harry adjusts to the new sensation; while the pain ebbs away to pleasure.

“Are you alright?” Severus asks after a moment, and Harry nods, experimentally pressing back against the both of them. They’ve done this before, once or twice, when his lovers wanted to test his limits. See how much he could take. It had hurt—still does hurt—but he’d loved every moment of it.

“I can take it,” Harry says, because he knows Severus wants a verbal answer, because his body feels like it might just explode if he’s left there like that for another moment. He feels Severus nod, feels him thrust up gently: once, twice, his prick sliding against Draco’s as he fucks Harry open.

Draco follows his lead a moment later, hands coming to settle below Severus’, his fingertips digging into Harry’s flesh, holding tight as he and Severus set a new rhythm. It’s slow at first, careful, but it builds. Their bodies moving so Harry never gets a second of respite.

It doesn’t last long, not when all three of them are wound up like they are. Harry comes first, the pressure of both Severus and Draco inside him too much to bear. He groans, swears, his come coating Draco’s torso in thick stripes. Draco follows a moment later, coming on Severus’ command before Severus, too, reaches his release.

The warm, content feeling that floods his body afterwards is inexplicable. His chest full and thrumming with something Harry can only call love.

**

_“And they said they wanted you there?”_

_“Yes,” Harry says, for what feels like the fifth time. He’s sitting at the kitchen table in Hermione’s new flat, fiddling with one of the biscuits she’s handed him. He looks to her, opens his mouth to say something else, but stops when he sees the big, excited grin on her face. “What?”_

_“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asks. When all Harry does is stare at her, Hermione sighs. “Harry. They want you there!”_

_“Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” he says, and the words are dry. Deadpan. He’s reminded of every quip Ron’s thrown his way about Draco and Severus rubbing off on him._

_“No, I mean—” Hermione waves a hand, shakes her head. “Love is a big part of Beltane,” she tells him. “There’s a lot of rituals—marriages, bonding ceremonies. If they’ve asked you to celebrate with them... Well, it’s important. It means they’re serious about you.”_

_Harry falls silent at that, his mind replaying the invitation in his head; highlighting the things he’d missed the first time. The tentativeness to Draco’s words, the way he’d been extra reliant on Severus. Like he’d been fearful of something. Like he’d thought Harry would reject the offer._

_“Oh,” Harry says, realisation dawning on him._

_Hermione grins._

**

Three bodies: intertwined, sated, unguarded as they lie together under the open sky.

Harry’s eyes are shut, his body sandwiched between Severus and Draco, his breathing only now starting to regulate again. Severus’ hand is flat on his stomach, Draco’s curled on top of it, their fingers unconventionally tangled together.

Harry can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.


End file.
